That's Not My Name
by Danja
Summary: OneShot. AU. Seven of Nine is arrested as a prisoner of war after leaving Voyager. Post-"Endgame". R&R.


**That's Not My Name**

A/N: My giving Annika the middle name "Christine" is entirely my own invention and is not a part of Official Trek Canon.

* * *

Shortly after Voyager had returned to Earth, Seven was arrested as a prisoner of war. She was held for detention at the Leavenworth Military Stockade at Leavenworth, Kansas.

* * *

"Name?" barked one of the plainclothes interrogators hovering over Seven. A lone lamp hung from the ceiling.

"Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One," Seven replied. She sat in a chair under the lamp, crossing her arms in defiance.

"What's your legal name?" the interrogator asked.

"Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One."

"What's your _LEGAL_ name?" the interrogator screamed.

"Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One."

"What are your specialties?"

"Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One."

"Is this the Borg equivalent of 'Name, rank, and serial number'?" the interrogator asked sarcastically.

"Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One."

* * *

"Name?" the clerk behind the window asked Seven. Seven wore a white long sleeve cotton T-shirt underneath a short sleeve red prison coverall. She wore prison-issue slippers on her feet and carried a bundle that was comprised of a quilted sleeping pad, a pillow, a sheet, and a blanket.

"Seven of Nine," Seven replied. A line of prisoners stood waiting behind her.

"Name?" the clerk asked again.

"I just told you my name," Seven shot back, irritated. "Seven of Nine".

"What's your _LEGAL_ name?" the clerk asked.

The idea of having to mention ... _Annika_ ... sickened Seven. It was as if she was supposed to pretend that the fifteen years she spent with the Borg never happened.

A guard walked over to Seven and shouted in her face, _"WHAT'S YOUR NAME?"_

"Seven of Nine," Seven growled defiantly.

"What's your_ LEGAL_ name?" the guard shouted back. "C'mon, you're holding up the line!"

"I keep telling you my name ... Seven of Nine," Seven shot back. "It's not my fault you refuse to listen."

The guard placed his hand on the grip of his phaser. "You wanna phaser?" he snapped.

Seven dropped her bundle on the floor and crossed her arms. _I've been through worse,_ she thought.

"Think you're tough, huh?" said the guard as he fired the phaser at Seven's midsection. Seven dropped down on one knee.

Seven bared her teeth as she struggled to get up, the veins in her neck bulging. Every fiber of her being was aching to body slam the guard for firing his phaser at her.

_Must not ... give them any reason ... to punish me,_ Seven thought. _ I only have ninety days here max._

"Seems what we have here ... is a Failure to Communicate." the guard announced to the room. He then turned to Seven and said, "What's your legal name?" He then grabbed Seven by the back of her neck and slammed her against the wall.

_"WHAT'S YOUR LEGAL NAME?" t_he guard shouted in Seven's ear.

"Annika ... Christine ... Hansen," Seven spat out as she gasped for breath, her ribs screaming in pain.

"Thank you," said the guard. He then yelled out to the clerk, "_ANNIKA CHRISTINE HANSEN!_"

Seven dropped to her knees, doubled over in pain.

* * *

Seven was housed in Leavenworth's isolation block. Inside her cell, there was a concrete platform for a bed. There was also a combination stainless steel sink and toilet.

Seven spent most of her days exercising - doing push-ups, jumping jacks, squats, and burpees. She never let herself forget for a moment who - and _WHAT_ \- she was: A soldier.

Seven was allotted one hour of recreation a day (the other twenty-three hours being spent locked down in her cell). She spent her time jogging around the enclosed exercise yard.

* * *

One morning, the peephole in Seven's door slid open. The guard outside yelled out, _"HANSEN!"_

"What?" Seven yelled sarcastically.

_"CHAPLAIN!" _came the reply from outside.

"What ... is a 'chaplain'?"

"STAND UP!" the guard commanded from outside.

"What's the point?" Seven shot back. "I can't see them, they can't see me."

The door opened. Several guards walked in carrying handcuffs, chains, and leg irons.

"Turn around, face the wall, put your hands behind your back," one of the guards commanded.

Annoyed, Seven stood up, turned around, faced the wall, and put her hands behind her back with a dramatic flourish. _HERE! _ she thought.

One of the guards wrapped a chain around her waist and locked it with a padlock in the back. Another put on her handcuffs and leg irons. A third attached her handcuffs to the chain around her waist.

"Think you're tough, are ya'?" one of the guards taunted.

Seven stared at the guard stonily in silence.

The guards turned Seven around in the doorway to face a small, pudgy, bespectacled man with thinning dark brown hair sitting in a chair in the hallway. The man wore a Army Officer's uniform.

Seven noted the man's rank. _Major._

"Hello, Annika," said the man. He had a PADD computer in his lap. "I'm Father McRae. I'm one of the chaplains here at the prison."

Seven had no patience for people she regarded as arrogant little nabobs - people who thought they were entitled to her time simply because they wore a funny little uniform.

It didn't matter if they were guards, Starfleet, or chaplains - she despised them all.

"My name is Seven of Nine," Seven corrected.

Father McRae scrolled through his PADD. "It says here your name is Annika Hansen."

"That is my _LEGAL_ name. That is the _prison's_ name for me," Seven replied. "My NAME ... is Seven of Nine."

"Shut yer mouth, Hansen!" one of the guards shouted at Seven.

Seven winced as she was overcome by the guard's bad breath. _Enough with_ _the garlic and onion sandwiches, _she thought.

"Do you know Jesus?" Father McRae asked.

"Should I?" Seven replied sarcastically.

"Yes, you should," Father McRae replied.

"Is he in this prison?"

"He can be," Father McRae replied. "If you want, he can live inside of you."

Seven turned around and tried to re-enter her cell. _Good-bye. I'm done,_ she thought. The guards spun her back around to face Father McRae in the hallway.

"I'm not interested," said Seven.

"No one _CARES_ if you're interested!" one of the guards shouted at Seven. "This is for your 'moral education'."

"You don't know me," Seven said menacingly.

"If you're not interested, then I'll be on my way," said Father McRae as he stood up to leave. "Just ask the guards for one of the chaplains."

"Sit down," one of the guards commanded Father McRae. "Just ignore her. She doesn't like the chains."

"With all due respect, if she's not interested, then I'm just wasting my breath," said Father McRae to the guard.

"She needs it," said the guard.

"I_ DO_ have other duties to attend to ..." said Father McRae as he turned and walked down the hall. "Good day, everyone."

After Father McRae had left, the guards turned Seven around and led her back into her cell.

* * *

A few days later, the process repeated itself.

_"HANSEN!"_ the guard shouted from outside. _"CHAPLAIN!"_

Seven went through the same process as the other day - hands behind back, chain around the waist, handcuffs, leg irons.

This day, she was led into the doorway to face a tiny little nun in her late sixties. She wore thick black horn-rimmed glasses and a gray habit. Gray hair peeked from underneath a light gray veil.

_Not again,_ Seven thought.

"I'm Sister Matthew Paul," said the nun. "May I hug you?"

"No," Seven replied.

"You can hug her," said the guard. He then said to Seven, "Any funny business and I'll pop `ya."

The nun walked over to Seven and hugged her around the waist. Seven kept her arms down by her side.

"Go on, Hansen. Hug her," said the guard.

"I don't want to hug her," said Seven.

_"HUG HER, DAMMIT!"_ the guard shouted at Seven.

Seven silently kept her arms by her side.

"Ten day penalty for defiance," said the guard as he tapped on a PADD.

Seven glared angrily at the guard. _Ten days tacked onto my term ... for refusing to hug someone! _she thought. _This is madness!_

* * *

_"HANSEN!"_ the guard shouted from outside. _"_Stand up, face the wall, and put your hands behind your back._"_

_"_Who's coming today?_" _Seven asked (as if she wanted to know).

"You're going for a walk," said the guard as the other guards finished putting her chains on her. "You're gonna meet your attorney."

"I have an attorney ..."

"Yes, you have an attorney," said the guard.

* * *

"I'm Lieutenant Atherton," said the attorney. "I'm with the JAG office. I'm your attorney. I'll be representing you through this process."

"My name is Seven of Nine," said Seven. She and Lieutenant Atherton sat in a conference room. Lieutenant Atherton was tall, trim, athletic, and in his mid-forties. He had blue-eyes and closely-cropped brown hair. He - like Father McRae - wore an Army officer's uniform.

Lieutenant Atherton looked through the PADD on the table. "Our records indicate ..."

"I am well aware of what the records indicate," Seven growled. "I prefer to be called Seven of Nine." She then added, "Most people call me Seven."

Lieutenant Atherton looked through his PADD. "Captured by the USS Voyager. Served four years on Voyager." He then asked, "What would happen if you went back to the Borg?"

"I would be executed for treason," Seven replied.

"Why?" Lieutenant Atherton asked.

"I walked away from the Collective," Seven explained. "I walked away from the Borg's idea of ... Perfection. I was no longer able to_ BE_ the person ... they needed me to be. I've spent too much time away from the Hive.

"I would be regarded as ... _less than perfect_ ... and hence unfit to rejoin the Collective."

Lieutenant Atherton scrolled through his PADD. "I believe ... under the circumstances ... I can get you the status of a political refugee," he said. "That way, you wouldn't have to go back."

"That would be good news," said Seven.

"You had ten days tacked onto your time for defiance," said Lt. Atherton. "Why is that?"

"I refused to hug a chaplain," Seven replied.

"You refused to hug a chaplain ..."

"She forced herself upon me," said Seven. "She hugged me. I didn't want to hug her. One of the guards ordered me to hug her."

"And when you refused, you were written up for defiance."

"Correct."

The Lieutenant shook his head. "That's ridiculous," he said. "I'll see if I can get that struck down."

"I could do without the chaplains," said Seven. "Lately, it seems as if I've had chaplain after chaplain coming to see me, trying to convert me to their primitive superstition."

"You don't want to see them?"

"In the _HIGHLY_ unlikely event that I would wish to see one, I will _ask_ to see them," said Seven.

"You don't have to see them if you don't want to," said Lieutenant Atherton. "I'll tell the guards that you don't want to see the chaplains unless you specifically request to see them."

"Thank you," said Seven. "I would appreciate that."

"If you don't mind my saying," said Lieutenant Atherton. "The staff is only trying to acclimate you ... to being human again ..."

Seven slammed her cybernetic hand - palm down - on the table. She pointed to her cybernetic hand with her human hand and snapped, "Do you see THIS?" with a look of pure fury flashing in her eyes. She then pointed to her cybernetic eye and barked, "Do you see _THIS?_"

"This is what I wake up to every single morning," Seven said quietly, her voice choking with barely concealed rage. "You know nothing about _ME_. You know nothing about my _condition_.

"I will never, _EVER_, become fully human again. Do you not _UNDERSTAND_ that?" Seven ejaculated. "You can take away what you humans regard as unpleasant and unsightly Borg hardware ... and there will always be parts remaining within me that are Borg.

"I will always _BE_ Borg to an extent," Seven concluded angrily. "I see no reason why _I_ should have to change _MY_ physical appearance to appease human sensibilities!

"I see no reason why _I_ should have to hide ... who _I_ _AM_."

* * *

_"HANSEN!"_ the guard shouted from outside. _"_Stand up, face the wall, and put your hands behind your back._"_

_"_Who's coming today?_" _Seven asked as the guards put the chains on her.

"You're leaving," said the guard. "We're letting you go."

"Really?" Seven's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "How long have I been here?"

"Seventy-five days," the guard replied. "You got time off for good behavior."

_Lieutenant Atherton must've gotten that write-up for defiance struck down,_ Seven thought.

"You've been officially reclassified as a political refugee," said the guard. "You're free to go."

The guards led Seven out the cell door and down the hall.

THE END.


End file.
